When the young boy and I started, the harvest moon was high in the sky, simmering an ethereal glow at the circumference. By our second lap at Nehru Park, it was lower, bigger, glowering. And then it seemed – as if suddenly – the sky changed colours. I pointed it out to him.
When he left, I carried on with my long run. Today is Saturday but because of a family dinner, I switched around the long run. Perhaps, I should do this more often. For too many family occasions, I have either skipped entirely or I have run on a few hours of sleep. In a sense, not got to enjoy the evening, or been in the present because I am waiting to go home.
I ran a long one at Nehru Park – or NP as I like to call it after ages. It was packed. Nearly as packed as Sunday.
Around the twentieth kilometre, I passed a runner who had passed me earlier. Thank god you are here, he said and caught up to me. I was getting bored.
How much do you have, I said. One more round, he said.
So, we ran that round together, silently. When he finished, he waved a thank you. I still had some ways to go.
Writing about Running 